What is it that signifies that paradise yonder In view but always out of reach?
I've grown so spoilt from love, I fall into being a child, I need to change I've known it for years but never had to Until I finally saw your face I love you like you will never know
I was so lost without you, and I can Strife and struggle for a reason now Because I can't wait to be your man Walking down the aisle and waiting However long it takes for you for I know I'll wait assured, Knowing if I'm ever gone too long you'll make it your life mission to find me And when I see you again it doesn't matter who falls into who's arms first I'm never letting you go And every day onwards I'm going to be your man. And you'll never have to fret
I'm going to be your man. And you'll never have to cry
I'm going to be your man. And you'll never have to fear
I'm going to be your man. And you'll never have to fight
I'm going to be your man. And I'll never be weak again
Oh Vincent if only you had known the world would one day marvel at your sunflowers and those waving fields of grain you left us but they will remain a part of you the beating heart of you the art of you for your success was unforeseen you left us with what might have been
Science holds keys, doors, Black holes and symmetry. Science is the gatekeeper When it comes to facts and logic. There is no place for science in the Universe of imagination, science Don’t own a paintbrush and could Never be a Picasso or Van Gogh No matter how many starry nights they glaze at.
The first thing I see when I pull out the top drawer was the diagnosis. Meds, there you go
it pretty much said that. I wondered about all the creative people doing some remarkable things, creating and being alive.
Except they all one day killed themselves. Van Gogh stood in the overgrown field before he shot himself. Sylvia Plath knelt down and stuck her head in the oven. Virginia Woolf grazed the smooth peebles, thinking about what she would write about those peebles, Only to shove them in her pockets and drown in the Ouse river.
Nearly everyday, I tell myself I want to be a writer, or an artist- Both, actually. That’s all I ever wanted to be, but the fear of spiraling, and becoming them Is deeply disturbing.
Yet, I craved for this life, To paint, and create stories with a dash of madness They all did likewise.